David Drake: The Tyrant

Of course, by all accounts, orgies were likely to take place anywhere in one of Jeschonyk's residences. For all his advanced age and long-standing reputation for political sagacity, the Speaker Emeritus was one of Vanbert's more notorious lechers. His frequent thunderous denunciations of "modern decadence" in the Council chamber had never stopped him from indulging his own private vice.

Demansk's thoughts were not particularly condemnatory, however. Lechery was a harmless enough vice, as such things went. And this much could be said of Jeschonyk-the man had never, unlike many Speakers, plundered the public treasury for his own gain.

He lowered his eyes and gave the other men in the chamber a stony gaze. "I have not explained the specifics of my proposal yet. Forming what I'm calling a 'triumvirate' will bring needed stability to the Confederacy-and, no small thing, keep that greedy pig Albrecht from getting his hands on the Speakership again. Which-you both know this as well as I do-he's been spending enough money to pull off if he's not stopped soon."

Mention of Albrecht, as Demansk expected, caused the aura of vague suspicion in the room to change. Or shift, rather, from his own person. Whatever else, the three men in that chamber had one thing in common: a thorough detestation of Drav Albrecht, the current Speaker of the Assembly and, several years back, the Speaker of the Council. Even by the standards of the modern day, Albrecht took corruption to new heights. Not even the traitor Redvers had been-quite-so mindlessly avaricious.

Demansk took advantage of the momentary "meeting of minds" to drive on. "But that's just the beginning. Stabilizing the political situation in the Confederacy is pointless if we don't use that stability to solve some long-standing problems. The worst of which, in my opinion, lies beyond our own borders. Say better: the worst of which is caused by the fact that our borders don't reach far enough."

Jeschonyk and Tomsien froze. With one exceptional episode, Vanbert had ceased being an expansionist power decades ago. And that one exception had been under Sole Speaker Marcomann, who had used his conquest of the western provinces of the northern half of the continent to set himself up as-in fact if not in name-the dictator of the Confederacy. He had been the last man to hold the Speakership of both the Council and the Assembly simultaneously-an ambition which all the men in that room knew was held by Albrecht. If Albrecht obtained his goal, however, it would be by the profligate use of bribery. Which, in the end, was not as dangerous as the means of sheer military power which Marcomann had used.

Demansk's lips twisted into a grimace. Technically, the expression might be called a "smile." But there was no humor in it.

"Relax," he commanded. "I am as well aware as you are of the dangers involved. Which is why my proposal, I believe, accomplishes three salutary goals. It locks out Albrecht, it keeps any of us from becoming a dictator… and it allows me the chance to accomplish a personal goal which is rather dear to my heart. Vengeance."

Not surprisingly, it was Jeschonyk who first understood. Tomsien was… not stupid, no; but not quick-witted, either.

"Ah," murmured the old Speaker Emeritus. "I see."

"I don't," said Tomsien crossly.

Jeschonyk waved a languid hand. "Demansk will allow you to command the southern provinces, facing the barbarians with most of our army. Since I'm too damn old anyway to take the field any longer-Preble was it, for me-I'll remain here in the capital exercising political control. Which frees him up to put paid to the stinking Islesmen altogether."

Tomsien's eyes widened. It took him longer to see a point, perhaps, but he was quite intelligent enough-experienced enough, at least-to see the implications once he did.

The real threat of a new dictator would come from whichever Confederate official could conquer large new territories on the continent. That alone would provide them with the land grants needed to cement the loyalty of a large enough army. The Western Isles, even all of them put together, did not allow for that even if conquered. The Isles were, and always had been, places for traders and fishermen and pirates. There simply wasn't enough acreage to create a large new layer of propertied men who could serve as the base of support for a dictatorship.

That was not the least of the reasons, of course, that the pirates of the Isles had been tolerated for so long. Yes, they were a pestiferous nuisance. But they posed no real threat to the Confederacy-and there simply wasn't enough to be gained by their conquest to make the effort seem worth it.

Unless… the man who led that effort had a serious personal grudge to settle.

Tomsien's eyes grew heavy-lidded, as he studied his fellow Justiciar. Demansk could practically read his thoughts.

What an idiot. She's just a woman, after all, even if she is his daughter. And for that he's willing to give me the lion's share of the army?

Demansk waited. Tomsien was not someone who could be rushed into a decision, anyway. And Demansk was quite sure that Tomsien had heard tales of Demansk's unseemly toleration of his daughter's outlandish ways.

He dotes on her. Always has, the fool. Odd, really, for such a man to have such a weakness. Almost effeminate, for all his skill at war.

When he needed to be, Tomsien could be decisive. "Done!" he barked. "As long as you give me the southern provinces- and a personal assurance."

Demansk frowned. "My word has never-"

"Damn your 'word,' Demansk!" snapped Tomsien. "Don't play the honorable old-style Vanbert nobleman with me. It's a rotten world today-rotten through and through-and you know it as well as I do. Facts are facts. I want a personal assurance. Something a lot more tangible than words."

Demansk ran fingers through his beard. "I see. Very well. My son Olver-"

"No! Your oldest son, Demansk. Barrett it'll be or there's no deal."

"He's already married," protested Demansk. But the tone of the words was mild.

Tomsien's grimace was not quite a sneer. Not quite. "Have him put her aside. He'll do it, don't think he won't. And the courts certainly won't be an obstacle-not after our 'triumvirate' is in place."

Jeschonyk chimed in. "Your daughter-in-law's family aren't all that well placed, Demansk. They'll say nothing, if they're slipped some quiet bribes."

Demansk had expected this moment to come. So he was a bit surprised at how difficult it was to keep his rage from showing. It helped that he understood the reason. Tomsien, for all his slow way of thinking, had clearly assessed Demansk's oldest son quite accurately.

Barrett was… not the son that Demansk wished he were. His daughter, the youngest of his four children, seemed to have gotten twice her share of Demansk honor-and all of it taken from the oldest. Barrett Demansk was a typical scion of the modern nobility. Ambitious, greedy, and-Demansk didn't doubt it any more than Tomsien-would be quite willing to discard a wife who had already borne him a child in order to make a more advantageous match.

"Which of your daughters?" he grated.

Tomsien shrugged. "Any of the three. Take your pick. It doesn't matter to me."

Demansk left that problem for a later time. He would allow Barrett to make the choice, in any event. His son would choose unwisely, and that too would further Demansk's scheme.

He took a moment to bid farewell to a piece of his own honor. Then:

"Done," he said softly. "But, now that I've given you the personal assurance you insisted upon, I will demand myself that I be given complete authority over all Confederate naval forces. Every ship, every crew-and whatever else I need to crush the King of the Isles. I will have my vengeance."

Tomsien's hand was too thick to wave languidly, but the fat Justiciar came as close as possible. Now that he had settled the deal in a manner very favorable to himself, he was quite willing to concede the crumbs from the table.